


It's Over, Be Still

by belderiver



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Aerith Gainsborough Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Injury, Cetra (Compilation of FFVII), Contemplative Drama, F/M, Gen, Melancholy, we're all victims of the blood war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:49:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24117532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belderiver/pseuds/belderiver
Summary: At the City of the Ancients, Holy is summoned just in time to save Aeris' life - and take Sephiroth's.
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough & Sephiroth, Aerith Gainsborough/Sephiroth
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	It's Over, Be Still

It happened too quickly for fear to take full hold. Still, Aeris felt the sensation of it linger, like waking from a nightmare remembered only by the body. Her heart drummed a frantic beat against her ribs, its fierce and vital rhythm a mark of her victory. Useless adrenaline buzzed in the tips of her fingers. She unfolded them slowly from the clasp of her hands and lifted her head, a sharp pain in her cheek, to grasp what had happened.

From up above, the man in black had steadied the vicious point of his sword toward her back and leapt. The fall was a long distance, but silent, swift, and deadly. It should have been easy. Her focus was elsewhere. She was placid as the sanctuary around them as she poured the whole of herself into a wish, an ardent wish, to the Planet. Midway through his descent, that wish was granted. The water around her altar flashed white and blinding, and in the time it took to blink, spears of pale green light lashed forward from under it. Sharper even than his blade, they caught him as he hung only feet above her. Masamune's tip grazed her cheek as Holy threw Sephiroth to the ground at the edge of the dais, where he now lay, a crumpled heap of black and red.

With haste, she loosened the ribbon in her hair to confirm her understanding. The white materia rolled into the well of her palm and glowed turquoise as she examined it in wonder. Holy had come. Just in time, it had come. It would travel outward from here and rupture the foundations of the reactors as easily as it had torn through Sephiroth’s body, leaving a chance for healing in its wake. She had done what she had set out to do - it was over. Almost, at least. With the back of her hand, she wiped a trickle of blood from her cheek and frowned at the edge of the platform where Sephiroth lay struggling against inevitability. Her stomach knotted. One more thing. Just one more thing. Unsteadily, she pulled herself to her feet and stepped closer.

He barely struggled. There wasn’t much use in fighting for a borrowed body. Besides, the magic had pierced it beyond salvation, the ugliest of the many wounds a vicious tear through his throat. Standing over him, she hesitated. At what? It was already done. Only, relief hadn’t yet unburdened her, and the weight of something still sat heavy in her heart. Maybe she hadn’t expected it to be so visceral, like something she might have done with her own hands if they had the strength and inclination. Maybe she hadn’t imagined staring down into his still-human face, watching him try to form words he could no longer speak. She hadn’t expected him to stare back. His acid green eyes pierced her with acuity beyond fury while his blood ran from the edge of the platform into the glimmering water around them. She wished she could feel sorry for him.

Only one more thing.

She pressed the white materia into the free slot on her bangle, her fingers gliding over the deadly arsenal at her wrist. Cautious and slow, she knelt beside him. No attack, no hidden reserve of strength came. The struggle was seeping from what was left of his body, though his eyes stayed fixed to hers, watching her, waiting for whatever she would do. The answer wasn’t much. She spotted what she needed glittering at his wrist, and laid her hand over his, taking firm hold of it. She lifted his arm up for her inspection, one wary eye still trained on him as she plucked her prize from his armlet. The black materia felt no different in her open hand than the white one, as deceptively silent and lifeless and strangely beautiful in the soft, coloured light. 

Holding it added to the weight in her chest. It brought Midgar to mind, and all the moments that had drawn her to this point. She remembered leaving the city with fragile hope in her heart, that she might find answers, that there was another person out there like she was. That hope collapsed in Kalm, in Cloud’s memories of Nibelheim - her would-be kinsman had gone mad long ago. Now he lay in front of her choking on his own blood, watching her intently through his final moments. Watching what? What was he seeing of her, with eyes too calm for his circumstances? How else had the journey changed her? What else had she learned?

Thus far it had all been blood. No true connection with her heritage, only the inheritance of its wars. Now that it was over, would she discover more? Had they built any grand temples to teach her how to cook their recipes from her gardens, or how her children were meant to be raised? Where had they hidden the materia that held the knowledge of their language and the stories they had told each other in times of peace? Had they known times of peace? Was there more of her history to connect with, or was this moment of vengeance against Calamity’s son its highest watermark? It was over - what was left?

Sephiroth’s fingers twitched against hers, and she realized she had kept hold of his hand. 

_I will not end_ , he told her. His mouth hadn’t moved, though his lips twitched into a strange smile, more tired than threatening. He had pressed the words directly into her mind, leaving her to wonder how much of it she had left open. Aeris frowned. Did he mean it as a warning, or a statement of fact? Her cheek stung as another bead of blood ran the curve of it to her chin. She held his gaze in silence.

 _Well then_ , she answered eventually, projecting the thought and trusting it would find its mark. Gently, she lowered his hand and laid it across his chest. _Maybe you can do better next time_.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired in part by:  
> https://theveryworstthing.tumblr.com/post/136420060918/the-fight-is-harder-each-year
> 
> Thank you to sanctum_c for proofreading.


End file.
